Dead Voltage
by PeasNCarrots
Summary: The power outages that have plagued NYC may have sinister origins. Rated for swearing. Rating will climb IN CHAPTER 3 due to extreme violence and graphic horror imagery.
1. Default Chapter

**DEAD VOLTAGE**

A collaborative effort by Peas N' Carrots.

Neither Peas nor Carrots have any control, rights, or ownership of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Neither stands to profit in any way, shape or form from this work of fanfiction. Both hope you enjoy their flight of fantasy.

* * *

Something went amiss under the streets of New York City, within the turtles' lair on a very dark and rainy autumn night. Michaelangelo was writing the last few letters on a piece of notebook paper when--"Aww!" Mikey's voice whined as his room went unnaturally pitch black and silent, "Not another power outage!" There'd been a surprising number of electronic failures lately, and even to Donatello, the cause was unknown. The situation irritated the four turtles to no end, though master Splinter seemed just as content without the power.

Donatello blinked in the darkness. The sudden absence of monitor glow left after-images of the screen across his vision. All around him, the reassuring and steady flow of whirrs, beeps, clicks, and hums that came from his equipment slowed to a silence. He shut his eyes in frustration. After he'd counted backwards from ten--and then a second time when he realized he had not saved--he pulled the flashlight from the top of his desk. Brown outs in the summer were inconvenient: no air conditioning, no TV, no radio, no computer, no fridge, and you had to spark the gas ranges on the stove by hand. But brown outs with _winter_ coming?! That wasn't inconvenient, that was dangerous: no _heat._

Hearing Mike squawking in the other room, Donatello sighed. There were some new chores to add to the list before it got cold: build a generator, and start stockpiling the gasoline to run it at the drop of a hat all winter long.

Leonardo had managed to work his way to Donatello's room with only his familiarity with the lair to aid him. He then knocked at the door and spoke towards it. "Sorry to bug you Donatello," he noted, "But we've run out of candles..." Candles would hardly be the issue when the sun went down. Fall nights in New York City were chilly at best.

Noises of rummaging greeted Leonardo as a flashlight beam played crazily over the back wall. "Nnnii, Ee-oh." Donatello's mouthful of flashlight precluded him from articulating anything more than grunts and vowels. The rummaging stopped suddenly, and objects clattered as they shifted.Don straightened up, standing in his pile of junk. The flashlight beam shined across Leo's face and ruined his night vision. "Oh, Leo, since you're here, gimme a hand with this flashlight. I know I've got some lamp oil cans down here that aren't as empty as some of these others." He shifted and Leo heard the clatter of cans on the far side of the room: a good 8 feet back in the depths of Donatello's clutter. "Oh and watch out for the all that loose wiring and the pile of vacuum tubes. I meant to clear those up earlier..."

Don's flashlight shined back into the cabinet; he was lost in his search for lamp oil. The rest of the room lay in front of Leonardo, completely swallowed in the darkness of the underground. The vacuum tubes, the wiring, and all the untold techno-junk that littered Don's lab lurked somewhere in the darkness.

Leonardo squinted and rubbed at his eyes with one hand in attempt to get his night vision back again. "Donatello...do you have any idea what's been causing this," he wondered as he closed his eyes hoping that Don's voice could guide him, "Or at least how we can find out what it is?" In the back of his mind Leo was counting the moments before his other brothers' complaints started raining down onto Donatello. He raised his hands before him at different elevations and walked cautiously through the darkness. Only Leo's long hours of blind-fighting practice could have prepared him to navigate such a mess.

Don's voice sounded distracted and the clunk of cans almost drowns him out as he thinks out loud. "Well, the power grid we're on could be faulty. Or the city may have over-burdened it. Or the main power stations are on the fritz... all in all? The city's workers will have to fix it--unless you guys are gonna get me current schematics for the WHOLE CITY and help me check it all: _one electric pole at a time_." Don pulled a can that did more sloshing than rattling and passed Leonardo the flashlight. "If you're asking me to 'fix the whole city,' you're nuts. I'm gonna make us a generator, and you an Mike an Raph are gonna start siphoning gas from parked cars... if we spread it out, no one gets stranded _and_ we'll have enough fuel for winter."

Raphael climbed down the ladder with a bag of groceries under one arm and a sack of DVDs hanging off the other. The place was dark, but not silent. Mike was caterwauling in his subway car. Apparently they'd had another outage. "JUS' GREAT!! HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSE'TA WATCH THE RENTALS WITHOUT POWER?! DONATELLOOOOO?!" Raphael stopped long enough to throw the groceries on the kitchen table and his coat on the back of the sofa, only barely slowed by the dark. "DONNIE!? How long 'til ya FIX THIS SHIT?!"

Leo sighed as he took the flashlight. "That was probably around...five minutes. A new record," he stated as Raphael's shouts rang through the lair, "Sorry Donatello. I wasn't trying to say that I expected that much from you." From the direction of Mikey's room, Klunk was heard yowling and knocking something over in sync with Mikey blurting out some self-censored curses. Leo furrowed his brows and shook his head. "I hope this one doesn't last very long."

Donatello let out the sigh that had been building. He made his way back to his workbench and assembled the lantern. The room brightened when he lit it, and Leo could see Don was probably MORE frustrated than Mike or Raph about this... probably because it was his job _alone_ to "fix it."

Raph's head came through the doorway to the lab. "April says these have to go back to the store by noon tamorrow. So make with the fixin'. I've been dyin' ta watch this one." He held up 'Ju-on.'

The frustration ebbed from Don's features, and quiet determination replaced it. The sooner he fixed this, the sooner he could get back to _his_ projects. "Right." Don looked around his lab. He had everything he'd need except quiet. "Okay, Raph I need you and Mike to go get me some stuff..." Don grabbed an envelope and wrote a shopping list on the back of it: the most obscure hardware he could name. "Get me this stuff." By the time they'd found it all, he'd have the generator running. "Leo's gonna stay here and help me get repairs underway."

Raph's mouth opened and shut. The sooner he did this... the sooner he'd be able to kick back and watch his Japanese horror flick. He snapped up the list. "You got it, Don--waittaminute! what the hell _is_ this shit?! ..."

"It's necessary. Ask Casey if you have a problem with it." That would take them even longer. Don kept his smile under an excellent poker face.

If Leonardo knew what his brother had just done, he would have been smirking and congratulating him. Since he knew nothing of Donatello's deception, he had every reason to believe that his brothers were being sent on a vital mission. Mikey had just managed to emerge from his room, complete with a pretty new coat of blue paint, courtesy of Klunk. The painted Mikey grumbled quietly as he attempted uselessly to wipe the paint from his face with his hands and his equally blued bandanna.

Raph headed out of the lab, having snagged a spare flashlight. He tossed the DVDs onto the sofa and flashed a grin full of teeth at his drippy brother. "Very nice camo. We'll never be able to pick you out from the _rest_ of the smurfs." Raph gestured with the flashlight towards the bathroom. "Get cleaned up so you don't leave tracks, cause Donnie jus' gave me a list a shit he needs. We're goin' out. .... unless you wanna stay home and play with makeup some more."

Don sighed. "They'll be gone for at least 5 hours.... okay Leo. We're gonna build a generator."

Mikey smirked and took off his bandanna in reply to Raph's words. "Yeah, funny Raph," he said before tossing the paint soaked cloth at his brother in red. Mike stalked towards the bathroom. "I stepped on the cat and it knocked my paints everywhere. If I wanna play with makeup, I've have April give you a make over." Raph was left with a blue splat on his plastron that had been meant for his face and a little bit of paint on one foot where the bandanna landed. "I'll be done in a minute." He quickly closed the door behind him in attempt to avoid any immediate vengeance from Raph.

Leonardo grinned slightly. "Five hours," he repeated, "Let's hope they at least manage to get out the front door soon.

Raph glared at the bandana, the wet blue on his chest and the closed bathroom door. The wheels spun in Raphael's head: this affront would _not_ go unanswered. Raph left the bandana on the floor and stalked into the bathroom, paying no mind to the shut door. He yanked it open and shut it behind himself. There was 2 seconds of eerie silence before Mikey began screaming like a little girl.

Don fought off the urge to face-palm as the sounds from the living room filtered into the lab. He shot Leonardo a long-suffering glance and began collecting tools by lantern light in his lab.

Ten minutes later, Raphael emerged from the bathroom, a smug look of triumph sat on his face. Mikey would follow later, sullenly burping soft soap. Neither of them wore blue anymore. "Geez, Mike! You comin' or what!?" Raph grabbed his coat and pocketed the list, heading for the ladder.

Mikey muttered quietly to himself between burps as he followed after Raph. "Yeah...hic...right...hic...behind ya...hic," the smaller brother replied as he started pulling on his own coat and grabbed a hat. He stuffed the hat onto his head as he approached the ladder.

Leo watched Don rummaging through his toolboxes. "What's the first order of business in building this, Don?" Donatello put the 'Two Stooges' out of his mind and led Leonardo towards the section of the subway tunnel that they had designated as 'storage.' He played his lantern's light over the haphazard piles of boxes, lumber, spare appliances, old motors, bed frames, exercise equipment, tangled balls of Christmas lights, partial bicycles and extra power chords. None of it worked outright, but all of it _could_ work with 'just a little repair.' Living in the sewer with a homemade TV, meant that Donatello never passed up anything salvageable. Things broke in the Hamato household as inevitably as death and taxes—with Raph's temper and Mike's enthusiasm, there was no avoiding damages. All the salvageables sat, scrounged up and ready for it's repair and debut into use, collecting dust and rusting out in the most remote section of subway tunnel still attached to the lair.

Don pointed at a black shape in the back of the pile, underneath a tangle of chairs. "That old bedframe will be our base. We'll anchor that--" he pointed to another shadow under the piles of lumber, sitting in an old claw foot bathtub, "Motor to it, and build from there!"

Splinter emerged from his room, holding and petting a purring Klunk in his arms. "Very good, Donatello. It's always a comfort to know you have a plan for repairs. Things are well in hand. " Klunk melted to a puddle of boneless kitty under Splinter's nails. "Since I can see that you and your brother will be at work for some time, I will prepare us some dinner, yes? I believe that club sandwiches will not prove too difficult to make without electricity." Klunk's limp limbs hung down from his jello body of fur and happiness. "I trust you both to notify me if Ii can help in any way." Splinter made eye contact with both the brothers, daring them to tell their Master to 'take it easy.' Satisfied that they would not dare attempt to keep him from working beside them after supper, Splinter took his armful of cat-loaf to the kitchen with him.

Don looked back at Leo with a grin and a small bow. The prospect of having another pair of hands attached to another rational person cheered him. "After you..." The pile of horded junk waited for them in the lantern light.

* * *

_Across town, in the basement of the NYC Power & Electric's Generator plant, three men whispered in frightened tones._

_"I don't know what it means! This isn't covered in the journals!" _

_"So you don't know why it keeps happening? Did you check _all_ your Grand-dad's journals and logs?" _

_"Of _course_ I have! Quit pestering me with _stupid_ questions!" _

_"Do you have any idea what could be wrong? If this system is showing signs of instability, maybe we need to repeat the rituals again..." _

_"That's what you say _every_ time! _CHRIST

_"... well, that's cause it works!" _

_"Yessssssss... it _does_ work... for a week, or a month, or two days... we can't just keep _sacrificing_ people for the rest of our lives! I've got appointments to keep! I'm a _busy _man, and I can't live coming here every time the system goes haywire." _

_"True, we _do _need to find a more permanent solution, but unless you have that solution _now_?... Another ritual is our only option." _

_"Fine. I'm sure there's at least one ripe one in the sub-basement. Pull up one of those twins. They've been down there for what? Three months? That should do. Not as potent as usual, but we're running out of the real 'long-term' tenants. Oh! Have the boys pick up some new blood. If we don't restock now, we'll be short a life when we need one later. " _

_"Yes, sir." _

_"Yes, sir."_

* * *

Leo chuckled a little before making his way into the maze of junk. "Do you think master Splinter is getting a little bothered by age?" He asked Donatello seriously, "I don't mean that in the sense of things like aches or pains. Doesn't it seem that it bothers him emotionally?" Leo seemed a little worried as he questioned Donatello, but he was still making his way through the junk. As he reached the bed frame he began working at trying to move it. 

Don set his lantern up on a chest of drawers where it would illuminate the storage area. He picked his way through the junk, and started moving the lumber off of the bed frame for Leo. A guilty grimace flashed over his features. "I think ... yeah. It's my fault. I was bugging him earlier this week to let me get his blood pressure and just.... just a check up!" Don shouldered more two by fours out of the way. "He's worse than Raph is about it. It had nothing to do with his age. We live in a sewer. I wanna know that my family's healthy and not working on arsenic poisoning or something." Having stacked the wood out of the way, Don griped the other end of the bed frame and hoisted. "...Okay it had a _little_ bit to do with his age.... but still. I didn't think it was unreasonable. " Don mumbled, "I kinda told him to take it easier on himself. I think he took that the wrong way."

"I suppose I can understand how master Splinter would be upset," Leo nodded. "Older people seem to get a little touchy with those sort of thing don't they?" He lifts his side of the bed frame and starts helping Don get it into place.

Splinter cleared his throat from behind them. "Yes, I'm sure the elderly find such assumptions about their abilities quite trying." An ached brow made it perfectly clear that Splinter would only consider himself 'elderly' a month or two after he had passed away and not a moment sooner. His gaze softened. "I do appreciate your concern, Donatello. Though it is hardly warranted. Come. Dinner is prepared. "

Leo made a strange expression at Splinter's return and gave him an uneasy smile. "I didn't mean to say you were elderly," Leo insists as he carefully settles his side of the bed frame down somewhere safe, "Certainly you aren't." He seemed as though he thought he had insulted his master and was trying to make up for it fast.

Splinter blinked at the expression on his sons' faces. Leonardo and Donatello were clearly worried they'd mortally offended him. A smile became a chuckle at his own expense. "My sons, perhaps it is merely for vanity's sake that I reacted so poorly. Forgive me. I had not intended to seem cross. Please do not look so upset." Splinter approached his sons and laid a hand on their shoulders, to show he really was not holding any kind of grudge. "Come now. The generator can keep. Let us eat before Klunk steals the meat from our sandwiches."

Don let out the breath he'd be holding and nodded with a grin. "I'm all for it. C'mon Leo."

_

* * *

_

_"You can't DO this!! Where are you TAKING me?! My sister! What are you going to do with HER?! I--" The door shut on the ragged woman's frantic cries. _

_"Thank goodness. All that carrying on really grates on one's nerves. Do make sure she's chained down securely. You wouldn't believe the flexibility some people have. Especially after they've become desperate enough to break their own bones for escape." _

_"Yes sir. She's definitely in place." _

_"Have you set up the wardings and the vessel yet? It'd be a shame to miss panic like this." _

_"Yes, yes. Everything is in place. The vessel is already collecting her fear, her hate, her panic; she's brimming with what we need. We won't have to torture her for another few hours. Feel free to take a break before we begin to milk her." _

_"Thank you, sir." _

"_Thank you, sir, but I'll stay here and prepare the equipment." _

_"Very well. I'll see you gentlemen in a few hours."_

* * *

Mikey trudged along behind Raph, still burping up bubbles occasionally. "So we're goin' to the junk yard first, right," Mike asked, "An' then if we don't find it all we'll check some dumpsters? Or what?" 

Raph shrugged. "I was actually thinkin' it'd be faster ta break up a drug deal'er two an' head over ta that mom'n'pop hardware store off of Brant an' 32nd. Figure s'long's we don't break anythin' gettin' in after hours, an' leave cash fer the shit Don needs, it'll be one stop shoppin'. " Raph grinned as he climbed up a ladder to a manhole cover. "And we get a _workout_."

Meanwhile Mikey grinned at Raph and continued after him. "Now we just gotta find the drug dealers," Mikey stated.

Raph gave Mikey a flat look. "I'll give ya a hint, Mike: _Queens_." Raph didn't wait for his brother to replace the manhole cover before snagging a fire escape and heading for the roof. "Las' one ta the bridge is a pipe licker!"

Mikey grunted as he quickly worked on replacing the manhole cover. He smirked in the darkness of the alley. Raph knew he would need to cheat to win. Without that head start, Mike would blow by him over the first block.

Raphael rushed headlong into the darkness. With the power out all over NYC, the city was truly a ninja's playground. Only the city hall, hospitals and police stations had lights, powered by their own back-up generators. The darkness filled the spaces between the buildings like a tangible force. Only occasional headlights and the dim glow of candle light in a few windows pushed the night back. With all the shadows of a burnt out city to cloak him, Raphael ghosted over the roofs like an invisible wind. This alone made missing the movie worth it. There was nowhere he couldn't go and no one to see him--nothing but freedom beneath his pounding feet and flying leaps for as far as the eye could see.

* * *

_The darkness was not a comfort to the captive in the sub-basement of the power plant. It hid her jailers. It cloaked her torturers. There was no familiarity in it, just emptiness. She'd cried herself hoarse, and sat shivering and silent strapped to a chair that radiated cold. The longer she sat in silence, the emptiness that surrounded her seemed to grow. The room that had echoed her cries before soaked in the whispers of her ragged panting now. It weighed on her and dampened even the pounding of her heart, swallowing any sound she made. Her eyes strained in the pitch of the space to find something, anything, to give her reference. Her bare feet had long since lost feeling. She was afloat in a room without walls, ceiling or floor. She was suspended in a darkness so complete, she may as well have been blind. _

_The three men circled their captive by the dim glow of candlelight, stepping very carefully to avoid smudging the arcane symbols on the floor. The woman's mouth hung open, slack lipped. A thread of saliva trailed from her lower lip down to the soiled front of her t-shirt, making a dark stain where it had begun to puddle. Her eyes swiveled in constant motion, seeing nothing, but desperately searching all the same. Panic and fear had drained her of any color she had left and her dirty hair framed her gaunt face in lank, greasy handfuls._

_"They always react so differently to this part. I often wonder what they _see

_"In another hour or so, you can ask her yourself." _

_"...You know full well they're never coherent enough to answer-- which is truly a pity." _

_The woman in the chair made no response, completely lost in a void without end._

* * *

**To Be Continued!!**

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Hello! Carrots here. Both Peas and I have other pennames. Peas is the sweet and steamy Meira-Bates. I'm the long-lost Kyabetsu. Both of us are still working on our own individual projects, but we wanted to share updating and feedback on this one. This story began as a round robin on a forum, but received so little interest, that Peas and I decided we'd just write it together and do what we wanted.

Thank you for your time, and please consider reviewing. We both love to talk.

--Carrots


	2. Flowing from Positive to Negative

**CHAPTER 2**

See disclaimer at the heading of chapter 1 and do not sue. Please.

* * *

Mikey raced along with Raph. He had caught up with his brother and kept pace with him ever since. The smaller turtle grinned widely. The air rushed against his face as he plowed along through the darkness. Mike ran sharp eyes on the streets as they flew over another alley. "Queens," Mike muttered randomly, "Yanno, I always wondered where people got these names for places...I mean...is there a Kings some where?"

Raph answered off-handedly. "Why the hell do people do _half_ the shit they do, Mike? 'Sides. There prolly was a 'Kings' somewhere--but if it was any where near Queens, she prolly knifed 'im." Raph flashed white teeth at Mikey. "S' a _mean_ neighborhood."

Well pleased with his joke, Raph flipped over the next alleyway. He scanned his surroundings as well, looking for a fight. The darkness and the prospect of violence elevated his mood and his adrenaline. Anything that ran into Raphael tonight might not last long enough to regret it. The bridge loomed ahead of them in the darkness, and Raph put on a burst of speed.

Mikey picked up his pace to match his brother. His excitement ran on a different level altogether. Mikey always had so much energy; tonight's excursion gave him the perfect excuse to just run. He certainly liked the idea of some action, but it was not the fighting so much as the winning: getting a chance to play the 'good guy,' that put a smile on his face. "Yeah," Mikey noted in reply, "They really broke the bitch-mold when they made her, didn't they?"

Raph let his silence convey his agreement. He vaulted over the fire escape and plowed down the alley. Raphael paused briefly to peer around the edge of the building, before darting across the road. On the far side he leapt the guardrail, and disappeared into the tangle of scraggly undergrowth. He made his way down the hill and over to the point where the bottom of the bridge touched the shoreline.

A set of stairs led down below the main roadway of the bridge to the construction and maintenance walkways floored with a thick metal mesh. The catwalks hung beneath the bridge as it spanned the Hudson. Chain-link fencing caged the entrance to the stairwell and a stout pad-lock and chain barred intruders, but hardly discouraged a ninja. The wind blew hard along the riverbed and howled through the supports of the bridge. The narrow catwalks swung gracefully among the struts and beams under the road. Once onto the gratings, the turtles would have nothing but a pair of handrails to stop the wind from sweeping them off into the river far below.

Raphael loved the bridge. Mike had found him here plenty of times, though neither of them ever let Leonardo know where Raph had been. The height, the freedom, the danger and the solitude made the catwalks an excellent place for Raph's retreats.

If Leo knew, not only would he interrupt, he would take every opportunity to point out all the dangers of the location. The catwalks had limited escape routes if Raphael was followed and attacked. The bridge was chilly even in the summer, and Raphael could suffer hypothermia by staying there over the winter. Raphael was certain the list would stretch to the Jersey shore and back as to why the bridge was bad news--but what Leo did not know, did not give Raph a headache.

Mike beat Raph to the locked stairwell with ease. He opened his mouth to call Raphael a pipe-licker, but read his brother's face and closed his beak on it. "So, I'll just pick the lock then, shall I?" Mike grinned at Raph who had taken up lookout duties without skipping a beat. "So how often da ya think they replace this padlock? I mean, I got a _professional _touch with the picks, but even a hand with finesse is gonna damage the lock after a while." Mike did not wait for Raphael's response. He pulled out a small leather kit with his tools and made quick work of the padlock as he carried on. "Somebody somewhere is spending a lot of money on these locks. With as frequently as you hang out here, and the way I've seen you rip up Don's practice locks… You're costing the city a _fortune_!"

Raphael let his brother prattle away. They had the side of the bridge to themselves. Mike finally folded his tools and moved the chain. "Got it? Good." Raphael asked and answered in the same breath.

"After you!" Mike bowed Raph into the stairwell only to have his hat jerked down over his eyes for his trouble. "Hey!" By the time Mike got his hat unstuck and the padlock reset, Raphael had descended the cold metal stairwell into the deep shadows under the bridge. Joining his brother on the catwalks, Mike only had eyes for the midnight river flowing through the heart of a blackened city.

The walkways swung under his feet and his coat flapped around his legs. Mike held his hat on with one hand and walked carefully, trying not to lose his balance. The wind raced fiercely beneath the bridge and Raphael set a fast pace across the open water. Late fall was not a season for lingering over the river. Mike trotted to keep up with his brother, one hand on the rail that framed the rocking pathways. After the second sharp spur from the cold, uneven metal of the handrail, Mike turned his attention away from the river and began to watch carefully for upcoming rust spots or rough bits on the rails in front of him.

More than half way across, Raphael picked up the pace again. His brother jogged behind him, just as eager as he to get out of the cold on the bridge. Raphael reached the far stairwell, putting his foot down on the first step when he heard, "WHOA-SH--!!" He spun around, not sure what kind of attack to expect. His eyes scanned the air, the water and the bridge behind his crouched brother. Both sais out, Raphael stalked forward slowly. "Mike?" Raphael's eyes watched everything but his brother, still not seeing what had dropped him.

"Ow!!" Mike pressed hands and knees to the metal of the grating, watching the trash that floated along the shoreline though the holes in the mesh as he panted with surprise and pain. "Raph. My Foot. I kinda gotta problem here dude."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Rapheal quit scanning for an attack and eyed his little brother, "_What_ is yer problem!?"

Mike had worked himself into a squatting position. In the deep shadows under the bridge and concealed by his coat, Mike's predicament was not immediately obvious. As Raph approached though, it became plain. Mikey narrowed his eyes and gestured at his foot. "My big, fat toe got stuck in the grating," he said as he tried pulling his leg up. "I'm sorry, but they did NOT have the big-toed in mind when they built this thing," he states.

The turtle grumbled and started trying to work his toe out without a great amount of success. Pain coursed through the large digit with the attempts, causing the ninja to glare at the grating and give a small snarl. He winced and muttered profanities under his breath, shivering in the wind off the river as he studied his toe.

Raph looked back towards the stairwell. They still had the bridge to themselves. Raphael replaced his sais in their holsters. "Aw fer chrissakes, Mike." He watched his little brother jerk at his own leg.

The younger turtle glared in his brother's direction. "Oh come on," Mike said, "Don't tell me this could _never_ have happened to you."

"Ninjas don't get stuck in bridges," Raphael informed him. "Now straighten yer toe and pull it straight out. We got shit ta do tonight..."

"I _am_ a ninja, Raph," Mikey protested, "And I already tried that; 's not working."

Raph grunted and walked over beside his brother. "Pull harder. Lemme help" He gripped Mike's ankle. "On three. One... Two... Three..." He gave the leg a firm tug.

Mikey winced as they both tugged at his leg. "Quit it! It's not working!" The younger turtle tried to wave off the older turtle. "It's not working," he grumbled, "And you'll probably pull my freakin' toe off trying to get it out."

"You wouldn't be _stuck_ then. Here." Raph dug in his belt, searching for his lock pick kit. He fished out a small packet of grease. "Take my lock-grease. If you use it _an_' yours, you might have enough ta slip the damn thing out." Raph handed it over. "Join me at the top a' the stairs when yer out--if you ain't up there in 10 minutes, i'm comin' back and we're yanking on it till it falls off or comes out."

Mikey frowned at that last part of the statement. He took the grease and nodded before he started working at his toe with both their kits.

Satisfied that Mike could lube his own toe, Raph set off up the stairs. He kept his little brother within earshot, but he was not Leo. He did not need to stand there and baby Mike. Mike was perfectly capable--he could get himself out of there. Raph reached the top of the stairs that emptied out onto the access roads at the base of the bridge. He immediately dropped to a low crouch behind the chain-link gates that barred this end of the catwalks.

A black mercedes benz lurked in the shadows beneath the bridge. The waxed paint and the polished chrome gleamed like liquid where it sat on the pothole-ridden access road. In a poor stretch of town like Queens, the car practically screamed "_money_." Sure enough, the headlights, the only lights for blocks, had drawn some of the more colorful locals. A gaggle of prostitutes surrounded the car. Very few reasons brought an executive-class vehicle to slum around in Queens--and most of those reasons involved a big paycheck for the girl who got there first.

Raph grunted as the back window rolled down slowly. A few of the girls pressed forward, obviously talking with someone in the car. He toyed with the idea of skipping the drug-dealers and just mugging this rich sonuvabitch. One good look at those women in the light of the car's reflected lights changed his mind quickly.

None of them wore new fashions. None of them looked beautiful anymore. Most were emaciated, either from starvation or drug abuse. An air of desperation and need permeated the group. These were not professional call girls. Raph shook his head. Hanging out on the service roads, these women were at the end of their ropes--back road women: crack whores and other addicts, homeless and turning twenty or ten-dollar sessions because they could not get any better.

Raph bit back another curse and headed back down towards Mikey. Sure, each of them probably had a heart of gold, but odds were they had AIDS too. He snarled as he headed back down the stairs, and vowed to take more canned food and cash by some rehab centers and homeless shelters. He hated this part of living in the city--there were too many folks to ever possibly help.

"Mike? You loose yet?" Raph's voice seemed flatter now. It had lost its urgent edge. Even his stance made it plain he was deeply bothered by something. "Can we go yet?"

Mikey frowned and shook his head. "I dunno how the heck I got this in here in the first place, but it does not want to come back out," he stated. He looked worriedly up at Raph, as though he believed that his brother would have to remove his toe. "How are we gonna explain this to the others," the younger brother worried.

Raph stared past Mike for a moment before shaking his head in return. "First we get you out. Then we say you caught it on a grate. No biggie." He frowned deeply and squatted beside his brother. The wind off the river blew up through the grating. The water and all its garbage made quiet clunking noises as it washed against the shore. Raph felt around the toe. It had been well greased, but was starting to swell. Raphael knew this would hurt his brother a lot, but could not be avoided. "Okay Mike. I need you to take a deep breath. On the count of three, we're gonna start pulling. Slow pressure, so we don't yank yer damn toe off... but it _ain't_ gonna feel good." Raph braced himself and gripped Mike's ankle. "One.... "

Several cries from the head of the stairs ripped through the night and stopped abruptly. Raph reacted instantly, shoving off with both legs in a powerful thrust. His grip on Mike's ankle had not lessened and the toe came lose with pop. The sudden pressure on his arms as he lunged forward jerked Raphael off balance and he snagged a handrail to keep upright. His brother's foot completely forgotten, he charged up the stairwell just in time to see the hulking shadow of a suited figure stuffing something scrawny and limp into the back of the Mercedes.

Mike cried out in surprise. He knew he should be in agonizing pain, but the wind, the cold, the grease, and the adrenaline surge deadened his nerves. The younger brother struggled to stand, his numb digit throwing off his balance. He floundered up the stairs, trying to keep pace with his brother, slower and clumsier despite his efforts. "What's goin' on up there Raph," he called as he stumbled along.

Mike caught Raph's attention for a split second. Seeing his brother standing, Raphael dismissed concern for him and launched a powerful spin-kick at the chain that held the gates closed. If he was lucky, the lock or the chain itself would snap with the cold. Both held firm, the fencing clanging and jangling with the force of his blow. Raphael snarled with frustration. Not only had he alerted the abductor to his presence, he was still barred from any kind of meaningful attack.

The bulky figure startled and scanned the darkness for whatever had come from the gates. The fencing remained closed, but it rattled and banged as Raphael fought to pry the lock open with the long prong of his sai. Spooked and watching over its shoulder, the figure quickly tucked itself into the back seat of the car. The car sat for a split-second longer before the driver to nailed the gas and sent the car squealing onto the bridge. Raph swore loudly, jerking his sai from the stubborn chain with a loud clatter of links and pivoted, nearly trampling Mike in his hurry to beat the car back across the bridge. "C'mon!" Raphael's focus drove his thoughts now—only one problem registered in his mind: the rich man who'd just taken at least one woman against her will. He grabbed at Mike's arm and jerked him to follow. Raphael piled down the stairs, adrenaline surging.

Michaelangelo staggered but spun and chased after his brother as best he could. Feeling slowly returned to his toe with his movement, and he grit his teeth hoping it would pass. "Raph! What _happened _up there? What are we chasing? Why are we running?"

Raph called behind himself as he ran, "Fuckers Jus'-- Whores-- Trunk!!!" The wind from the river snatched every other word as he charged down the swaying catwalks.

Mikey swallowed his questions and his complaints. Raph did not get this worked up over things that were not important. He grunted every time his injured foot hit the ground, but determinedly pushed onward after his brother.

Raphael had covered more than half the span of the bridge at a break-neck pace when it occurred to him that Mike had fallen behind. He took a quick look over his shoulder and growled. His brother limped along a good 20 yards back favoring his left foot. Raph looked ahead at all the distance yet to cover and snarled. The Mercedes would be long gone by the time he and Mikey got to the other side. Cursing under his breath, Raphael slowed his frantic dash. He slammed a fist into a support girder as Mikey got closer. He strained to remember the full license plate, but only recalled part of the plate: TQ4. "_Damnit_!"

Mikey came to a stop and frowned at Raph's anger. "Sorry Raph," the younger one spoke through pants and hisses as his foot throbbed. He lifted his left foot and winced. "What was it," he asked, "I couldn't hear ya..."

Raphael gripped the handrail with two hands and stared out across the water. "Some uptown sackashit just stuffed at _least _one prostitute inta his trunk--but there were way more'a them around the firs' time I looked an' more'n one scream... Sunovabitch's got more than one'uv'em." For the first time, Raph pulled up short and peered over at his brother. His eyes followed Mike's ankle downward. The rage over the mercedes' owner broke suddenly under a cold wave of guilt. "So... what's the foot like...?"

"I'm sorry," Mikey said again, more upset now that he finally understood the situation. He looked down at his toe and tried to move it before wincing again. "Well it doesn't hurt too much...but then, it doesn't do much of anything..."

Raph waved it off. "Ferget the whores. We'll have Donnie file another 'anonymous tip' through the NYPD. Doubt we coulda caught the fuckin' mercedes even without yer toe there." Raph squatted down. "Lift yer bad foot and rest it on my knee. I wanna see this thing."

Mikey furrowed his brows but raised the foot with the injured toe per Raph's request. He rested the foot on his big brother's knee, showing his good and bad toes. The green digit suffered a cut across the top of the joint. It had swollen and Raph could plainly see how it bent at an odd angle. His carelessness had dislocated Mike's toe.

Raphael gave no warning. He gripped the toe and jerked it back towards its proper socket. His other hand came up quickly to steady his brother. The toe snapped into place with a loud crack. Mike went wide-eyed and bit on his lip in an attempt to keep from crying out; the unforeseen pain crackled through his foot and up his leg.

Raph looked down quickly to give his brother as much privacy as he could. "I ain't got nothin ta bind it with... but leavin' it dislocated wasn' an option. I ain't gonna _carry _yer ass home. ...but if ya need ta lean a bit, s'fine." Raph put Mike's foot on the ground with more care than his tone would suggest. He stood, still not looking at Mike, giving his brother time to get it under control.

Guilt and frustration filled him as he tried to shut out the lecture he could _already_ hear Leonardo giving him. Raph promised himself he'd make it up to Mike. Not in words—Leo put too much stock in spoken apologies and promises. Raphael's apologies were subtler: less teasing, more support, letting Mike pick what they did, and other thoughtful things that avoided a big emotional production or too much fuss. Raphael knew Mike understood. Raph would never have hurt him intentionally. By the same token, Raph would never embarrass either of them by offering some kind of tearful, heart-felt apology. Raphael looked over at his little brother carefully checking for any more damage before offering his shoulder.

The younger brother inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Th-thanks Raph," he said. He hesitated to lean on Raphael's shoulder. Over the years, Mike had come to despise his 'baby brother' status. At times it could be exploited to his benefit, but far more often, it made it difficult for him to earn his brothers' respect as a warrior, ninja, and equal clan member. Mike made a concentrated effort to hide suffering; he hated feeling like the wuss of the family. Yet even with his pride, he had to admit that his foot stabbed with pain. He snuck a peek at Raphael's guilty expression and knew that his brother would not ridicule him for this. Feeling relieved, Mike took Raph's shoulder and they began the long, slow trek back to the lair.

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_Within the sub-basement levels of the power plant, the three warlocks, clothed in wrinkled patchwork robes, circled their captive six times. They lit candles at six points in the room, corresponding to the six points of the etching chiseled into the ceiling and chalked directly beneath it on the floor. Their victim sat on an iron chair on a raised platform at the center of the arcane markings. Beneath the slats of the chair, a deep and narrow pit pulsed with a malignant heartbeat. The darkness from the pit seemed to radiate outward as light would and repulsed the sputtering, sallow glow of the tapers._

_The warlocks' victim stared straight ahead, an expression of rage and disgust twisting her features. Her eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance and she paid no mind to the figures that chanted slurred syllables around her. She spat out insults and slurs, damning her children and her husband, her sisters and her mother, herself and her God. Frothing, bubbling saliva dribbled down her chin from between her yellowing and rotted teeth. Her hate flowed from her as if pulled, and on the currents of magic wound into the room, it funneled downward, feeding the object in the pit beneath her chair._

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**To Be Continued!!**

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Hey gang! Carrots here again! I swear there ARE two of us. Peas is very shy... but there ARE two of us. Hope you're approaching the edge of your seat, because we've shown you just the tip of the iceburg. The fic will plummet into "R" rating after this, as we find out more about the Villians and their gruesome MASTERPLAN (tm). I do hope you enjoyed it and continue to read, even after we drop off the main "TMNT FanFic" page and you have to SEARCH for "all RATINGS" to pull up our fic. Again, we're anxious for feedback... who isn't? though i think it's cause we don't get hugged enough at home. ;P

Thank you for your time, regardless of reviews or not. And NO. I'm not rooting for the baddies or encouraging anyone to turn their OWN lives to that of crime and murder. ...it's strictly a "Kids, Don't Try This At Home," kinda thing. Children should eat all their broccoli and read lots and lots of comics. Not play with candles.

--Carrots


	3. Filled to Capacitance

**CHAPTER 3 **

Please see the disclaimer at the beginning of Chapter 1 and do not sue. Please.

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Beneath the silent bulk of the non-functional power plant, translucent blue thread hung from the six points of the arcane geometry chiseled into the ceiling of the ritual chamber. Visible only from the corner of the eye, the threads wove inward; creating a tangled web of magical energies that pierced the warlocks' victim and continued downward into the deep cavity beneath her chair. The victim's emotions: fear, spite, confusion, loss, rage, and despair flowed down the threads in globs, making a supernatural string of greasy pearls that slowly oozed into the trench. The pulsating darkness from the pit pounded eagerly now, well fed by the emotions it ripped from the sacrifice above. Two of the three warlocks mounted the dais and, with the squeal of rusted iron, forced the mechanism in the chair to recline.

Moving their victim's body stirred the air, and the foul stench of her imprisonment mingled with the sulphurous pong of the oily candle smoke. Sour sweat, caked filth, rotting teeth, and the rancid breath that accompanied starvation hung in the air, smothering the room with thick nauseating vapors.

The third of the warlocks approached the husk of a woman that lay stretched out between his two accomplices. The monstrous power they sought to control lay beneath their feet. Their ritual had wrung her heart and mind dry of thought and impulse. They circled her, low chants almost drowned out by the silent menace lurking underneath them. Their foul prayers pleaded for spiritual aid: a share of the dark authority below them to help them contain the soul of their victim as they completed the ritual. A shapeless shadow blacker than the room around it streamed like water, racing up from below to the waiting warlock above. The most powerful of the three drank in the shadow. His body grew rigid and his eyes rolled back into his head. When his eyes rolled forward again, they were no longer his, but that of the shadow he swallowed: a ravenous predator.

The two remaining warlocks stepped forward, flanking the victim with ceremonial blades carved of the bones of corpses. A nod from the possessed warlock bade them begin their work and they brought the knives down into the victim's skin. The sickly gold of the bone scalpels turned to red as the blades cut razor lines over the woman's dirty flesh. Fresh welts of wet black-red rose, pooled, and ran down her limbs, sucked into the pit below. The woman made no sound as the warlocks traced her veins with their knives. The midnight-red fluid that trickled down the legs of her iron chair and seeped over the rock floor to the lip of the pit spoke for her. Her blood itself cried a shrill buzzing, a high-pitched whine, the discordant keening of glass ground against metal. It shrieked just on the edge of hearing for respite and an end to the suffering. As the warlocks continued, a heavy scent of copper filled the room and coated all three of the warlocks, permeating their wrinkled robes and their skin.

The possessed warlock with eyes of coal extended his hand over the body. His spell rang through the chamber like a roll of thunder. "_De bevoegdheid aan verleen me om deze ziel te houden en te binden, om het aan de dodelijke rol te geselen waaruit het kwam. Spoel het van dit lichaam en neem weer eens het binnen gevangen!_" No sooner had the final syllable passed his lips then the shadow that he housed began to dribble from his fingertips. It slipped over her cooling flesh and writhed over her body, heading up toward her face. The sacrifice herself lay white and still as a drowned woman. Her cracked lips stretched tight as the formless black mist forced its way inside of her mouth. It filled her lungs, and slowly replaced her blood. It forced every last drop of red from her body, and in its wake her nerves shriveled and her pain dwindled. Within her mind, panic gave way to gladness, and she welcomed the black cloud that violated her; it eased her pain. The deep lines around her eyes relaxed and for a brief moment, she had a hope that she would live through her ordeal.

Her hope soured suddenly with a nauseas understanding: she was already dead. Her consciousness wriggled at that thought. She should go, she should move on, yet she was held fast to the cage of rotting meat around her. Something snaked through her soul, and she tried to flee. The mist within her grew palpable, and like a ruthless hand clenching her being, it pulled at her. It dragged her out of her body, but imprisoned her within a sphere of darkness that surrounded her torso. It refused to let her soul depart; It could neither to ascend to heaven nor descend to hell.

The three warlocks' brows dripped with perspiration. Controlling the evil spirit and manipulating a human soul took great amounts of concentration and focus of will. The soul hovered above the body, looking almost liquid, pulsing in tandem with the black light from the pit beneath the corpse. Cutting completed, the warlocks scraped the last of the blood from their blades into the inky blackness of the pit. Only then, did the two warlocks resume the ritual—the final stage.

Restrained, choking and pressing desperately against the constraints around it, the soul fought to keep from being forced back into the body again. The warlocks' chanting increased in volume, and the black sphere surrounding the body began to shrink. Each time the soul battered against it, the sound of scorching meat and yellowed smoke would rise from the contact point. Frantic, the soul fled in the other direction, downward, away from the dome above it. It burrowed into cold flesh and forced its way through. It tried to exit the other side of the corpse, and it met the other half of the sphere. Scorched a second time, the soul backed up into the dead form. The black spirit ball shrank, forcing the soul into a smaller and smaller pocket. It held the soul into the corpse's stomach like a terrible pregnancy.

The warlocks worked outside the body, preparing the dead flesh. They sewed up the veins they had opened with hair from the stiff scalp of their victim. The dried, blood-crusted skin had no elasticity left. Even after the wounds were mystically sealed by threads of hair, they gaped open, contrasting the clammy gray-white of the dead skin with the shriveled brown-red of her muscles. The warlocks worked over the corpse, piercing thin skin and stitching closed any and all openings in the body with threads of hair. The victim's ears were bent over and bound closed. Her staring eyes were covered with a lattice of hair. Her nose and lips were pulled tightly shut by a web of hair.

Only after the warlocks barred the every possible one of the soul's exits did they banish the spirit holding it. The possessed warlock reabsorbed the shadow and with the gift of three drops of his blood into the pit, it fled his body. He came back to himself in time to see the woman's soul flooding back into her body. Even closed with hair and freshly dead, he could see her face registering pain, finding physical sensations, and only just beginning to comprehend what that meant: she was a live soul housed in a corpse.

The body twitched and thrashed as it tried to either fully live or fully die. The soul cried wordlessly for its heart to beat and its lungs to breathe. The body rocked back and forth on its iron bed as the soul commanded dead muscles to move. She struggled to scream, but the hair through her lips kept them shut. She struggled to open her eyes, but only succeeded in tearing the holes in her eyelids open wider. Yet already, the soul's connection with its flesh faded, allowing the soul less and less control over its cage. The corpse subsided slowly and the warlocks began to close the ceremony. As the warlocks snuffed the final candle of their circle, the only sound in the subbasement was a whimper of rigor mortis and vocal cords, the birth cry of a zombie.

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Hey y'all! It's been nearly a year, but we're finally back in the saddle. PeasNcarrots rides again! The fiction has officially been scootched over to "R" rating (or the equivalent. You know what I mean.) Here's what Peas had to say:

"_Hi all, Peas here! Yes, I'm finally peering out of my corner and speaking a moment. I'd like to thank you reviewers. I am VERY honored that one of you enjoyed my fic in the AFFC. PSSST! However, don't let Carrots fool you. I started this fic, but she's made this project shine and she's doing almost all the work. All I can really be credited with is the idea of starting a spooky round robin and taking care of the parts of Leo and Mikey. Everything else is all her. Of course since she edits and posts this stuff too, she might not let me tell you. ...ah well. Just, many points to Carrots for making this story great. Thanks again to those who reviewed!"_

I second her heart-felt thanks for reviews, but Peas is so modest, it's laughable. But nevertheless! We are BACK! (And the next chapter just needs proofing before posting.) So you won't wait a year for this fic again! woo hoo!

thanks again, guys

--Carrots


	4. Keeping Grounded

**CHAPTER 4**

Please continue to abstain from litigation. The TMNT and supporting characters are CopyRight of Mirage Studios.

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Donatello dropped the last wrench into his toolbox. Light filled the lair and the generator purred like a giant kitten. "It's even got an auto-kill switch for when the city's power comes back. We don't have to waste gas powering the lair ourselves and we don't have to turn the power off to know if the city's been fixed!" He looked up sharply from his triumph as the lid over the ladder scraped back. Don frowned and checked his watch. "High time! What'd you jokers do! Watch a football game with Casey?" 

Mike came down from the ladder with a sheepish grin. "Ah..." he looked to Raph as he rubbed at the back of his neck. His family instantly knew Mike had messed up something. Leonardo just waited on the opposite side of the generator from Donatello. If it were important, Mike would not keep it hidden.

Raphael did not make eye contact with Michaelangelo. He drew a deep breath; ready to tell them about the kidnapping when he pulled up short. "WAAAAAAAAAiiiitaminute! _Why _the FUCK is there _light_ in here! We didn't getcher parts, Don. And the surface's still dark!"

A bolt on the side of the generator suddenly fascinated Donatello.

Michaelangelo blinked and looked around as it dawned on him that Raphael was correct. Leo raised a brow and cleared his throat. "Why are you back without the parts," the eldest wondered in attempt to distract them both and steer the conversation back to whatever had Mike on edge.

Raphael glared at Don and then at Leonardo for trying to derail him. "Cause shit don't happen like in fairy tales, Leo. Real life got in the fuckin' way." Raph would not be put off, stalking closer to Donatello and the generator. "You didn't _need_ that shit did you!"

Don's head snapped up, meeting Raphael's eyes. He equivocated as best he could. "_Yes, I did_--just not to make the generator. I found the right parts for that here." Don made it sound perfectly reasonable, but the excuse would never hold water with Raphael. Donatello hoped his tone and logic were enough to stem the on-coming argument.

Leonardo nodded at Donatello's response and crossed his arms as he asked, "So...where are the things?" He put the pieces together slowly. Something had happened that either injured Mike or broke something or some one important and caused the pair of them to return home far later than anticipated without the parts.

Raph threw up his hands, still focused on Donatello. "I DON'T BELIEVE THIS! Mike almost _LOST HIS FUCKIN' TOE_ over those parts an' you don' even _need'em_!"

Donatello's attention jumped from his angry brother to the one that had been strangely silent. Mike stood by the ladder. The area had poor lighting, so Donatello left his spot by the running generator and walked right past Raphael without acknowledging him. His errand had _not_ been intended to get his brothers into danger--just out of his hair--so to speak. If Michaelangelo sustained injury on this foolish errand he sent them on, there would be nothing Raphael could say to make Donatello feel guiltier.

Leonardo looked quite interested in things now. He quickly followed Donatello up the stairwell that separated the entryway from the open space of the living room. He passed cursory inspection over his youngest brother as he continued questioning Raph. "How'd he almost lose his toe," Leo asked, "What were you two doing?" Leonardo spoke as if Mikey weren't right beside him. It made Raph's blood boil, but getting into an argument with Leo _for_ Mikey really was not the way to prove that Mike thought for himself. Donatello squatted down and studied Mikey's toes.

Raph's gaze would have bored holes in lesser men, but apparently Leonardo did not notice it. Raph spoke slowly, as if explaining the events to a child. "He got a toe caught in some grating. We had a helluva time gettin' it out."

Even with the space of the stairs separating them, Leonardo could feel the weight Raphael's eyes on him. Leo automatically ignored it, but gave no outward hint as to whether or not it phased him. Leonardo counted it as a personal victory whenever he could deflect one of Raphael's tirades without batting an eye. "Grating," he stated aloud. His patient calm and the underlying lecture that accompanied it ate at Raphael's control. "Where were you guys?" Leonardo may have addressed both of them, but he clearly expected the answer from Raphael.

Don piped up as he peered and prodded at Mike's foot. "There's no grating for blocks that's big enough for our toes--certainly none on the way to the junkyard or to Casey's. 'Scuse us, Leo. C'mon Mike." Leonardo stood out of their way and Don led Mike down the stairs past Raphael towards the sofa. Raph gave Don the glare of death as they passed. Don concentrated on judging the range of movement Mike still had in his foot.

Leo frowned; Raphael still had not answered properly. "So where were you, Raphael?"

Raphael opened his mouth to lie, just make up a place, but before he uttered a syllable, Master Splinter caught his eye. Sensei said nothing, merely watched Raphael from his armchair opposite the sofa. Raph closed his mouth and scowled. Don sent Mikey and him topside on a _lie_ and somehow _he_ was the one being interrogated. "We needed cash fer the parts. We headed out ta Queens. It happened around there." Raphael looked at Mike for the first time since had descended the ladder. His little brother hobbled to the sofa, much slower now that he did not have Raph's shoulder for support. Don gestured at the couch, "Sit." He did not pause, but headed right into the lab for a larger first aid kit than what was kept in the dojo.

Mikey winced slightly as he got a good look at his own toe in bright light. He flashed his sensei a strained grin. He felt responsible for his brothers' argument, but did not have the energy to bring their attention down on himself. His injury was childish and his brothers were reacting accordingly. Rather than making him angry, it only served to exhaust him. Acting adult seemed like a never-ending, up-hill march. Demonstrating that adulthood to Leo proved an even more Herculean task. The day Mike acted as rational, as level-headed, and as boring as Leo would be the day that Leo actually treated him like an equal--fat chance of that. Mike wiggled the healthy toes on his other foot at his sensei, and settled into the sofa to weather out the fight.

Raph pulled his attention back to his brother in blue as he descended the stairs and stood opposite Raphael. Leonardo peered pointedly over the back of the couch at the injury before turning back to Raph. Every line of Leonardo's stance said that Raph better have a damn good reason for taking their little brother into Queens. Raph tried again to get his words out. "Minor crisis. Mike got his toe stuck. We got it out. Don'll have ta look at it. But that's not the problem--"

"You took him on the bridge." Leonardo made that a statement, not a question.

Donatello re-entered the room in time to hear Leo's comment. He opened his mouth to remind Leo that Mike thought for himself and was just as adult as the rest of them. Mike could certainly choose whether or not he wanted to go with Raphael anywhere. Raph had not taken Mike across the bridge; Mike went. The glare he received from Raphael, the expression on Leonardo's face, and the tired, resigned Mikey on the sofa convinced him that Mike's self-reliance was a can of worms for a later date.

"Took 'im on the bridge! No Leo, we _flew_ ta Queens from LaGuardia-- Will you LET me finish! S'important!" Leo's eyes narrowed, but did not interrupt again. Gratified that Leo could shut his hole for long enough to listen, Raphael said, "Thank you." The sarcasm dripped from his tone, but before Leo could interrupt again, he continued. "Right near the access roads on the Queens side'a the bridge, I spotted some rich asshole pickin' up whores. "

Don hurried around the sofa, quickly becoming distracted by the deep purple coloring that spread over a quarter of Mike's foot. "What'd you _do_ to get it out of the grate?"

Raph scowled as he was interrupted a second time. He turned to face Don, Mike and his Sensei where they examined the injury in the living room. Splinter dragged the much-abused coffee table over to his son. He indicated that Mike should put his foot up. Mikey frowned a little and spoke to Splinter despite the fact that Donny had asked him the question. "I tried to pull it, but it wouldn't come out. So Raph gave me his lock grease, and with his and my packs I greased it up and it still didn't want to come out." He explained, "Raph was just going to try and force it out easy but someone screamed and Raph ended up jerking it out so he could see what happened."

Raphael followed Mikey's lead, stepping closer to lean on the back of the sofa over Mike's shoulder. He left Leonardo behind him, having dropped their fight momentarily in order to appeal to Splinter's higher authority. "S'right, somebody screamed. _Lotsa _somebodies screamed. I saw this huge fucker--sorry sensei-- huge guy stuffin' limp crack whores inta his truck. Didn't get a full tag, but some rich ass-- guy is murderin' whores... in Queens... which prolly ain't mucha a newsflash-- but the fact is I _saw_ it an I know a partial tag an' description an' we gotta phone the cops cause me an' mike couldn't keep up with'em--fer _obvious_ reasons." Raph gestured at Mike's foot, all worked up again at the memory of his inability to help.

Splinter nodded in reply to Raphael. It only made sense that they report such an attack to the authorities. He let his silence serve to quiet Raphael's excitement. "Yes. We will do so, my son." His agreement alone cooled Raphael's temper a number of degrees.

"Hai, sensei." Raphael's calm lasted for a heartbeat before Leonardo cleared his throat.

"So are you done now, Raph," Leo asked with a raised brow ridge and a none-too-amused expression, "Or am I interrupting you again by bothering to ask?"

Raphael leveled a flat glare at Leonardo, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Go on Leo. Tell me that witnessin' the abduction or death a' over four women ain't as importan' as me takin' my _grown_ brother--who coulda tol' me ta fuck off at _any point_-- across a bridge."

Splinter's ears flattened. Raphael was too busy trying to stare down his brother to pay attention to his language. Splinter sighed, waiting to hear Leonardo out. If Leonardo answered Raphael with a remark that satisfied his brother in red, then things would quiet down quickly. If not, Splinter would step in, though he despised doing so. It would either humiliate Raphael or undercut Leonardo's authority. Despite either turn of events, Splinter would not leave them to fight it out alone--not while he still lived and could mediate between them. He continued to listen to them with half an ear as he looked over Mike's toe. Splinter spoke in a quiet voice, letting his two headstrong sons vent while he and Donatello tended Michaelangelo's injury. "Donatello, his toe has been dislocated at this joint." Splinter indicated the most swollen part of the toe. "With the extent of the bruising, he may have torn ligatures. The damage seems to have extended to the underside of the foot as well." Donatello's science knowledge was without peer in the lair, but Splinter was a ninja master and with that came an understanding of a body's limits and stress points. Splinter frowned as he examined the foot. Leonardo and Raphael were still bashing heads.

Leo glared right back at Raphael, preparing himself to keep an even temper. That never really worked where Raph was concerned, but he would try. "I didn't say the trip over the bridge was more important than the safety of those women," the oldest brother explained, "And it's not that that I'm unhappy with! You do not have any sort of magical ability to just know when a bunch of--," Leo paused as he struggled to find a second word for whores that did not sound like 'whores,' "Strangers are in danger. That being said, you endangered Michaelangelo _and_ yourself _needlessly_," he explained, "What were you doing on your way to Queens when you could have just taken a far less risky trip to the junkyard or Casey's?"

Raphael glowered at his brother. Raph had come home with expensive things before, come through with parts no one else could find, had cash when no one else in the family did. No one asked where he got the money when from time to time he was able to chip in cash to pay April back for luxuries. Of course Mike knew where he got the money. Donatello probably knew as well. Raphael would lay odds that Splinter had figured it out, and he would be damned if Leonardo hadn't at _least_ got a guess. No one bothered him about it--until now. _Now_ it mattered and _now_ he was going have to break the unwritten rule; he would have to 'fess up. Once it was specifically forbidden, it would never happen again--never again, unless he wanted to outright _lie_ to his family. That thought triggered a glare at the back of Donatello's head. In Raph's books lying to your brothers smacked of betrayal. Hiding things was fine, but you didn't lie.

Donatello had settled down on Mike's other side, listening more to Splinter than to his arguing brothers. His own cursory first glance confirmed most of what his sensei had said, but now he turned his attention to Mike's foot and began probing the area. "Let me know if you feel anything grinding, or any nausea as I do this, Mike." Mikey was obviously bothered by the pressure on his bruises, but said nothing. Knowing that none of his brother's bones had been broken, Donatello cleaned the cut across the top of Mike's toe and splinted it, completely oblivious to the new direction of Raphael's displeasure.

Raphael bit back a snarl. "The shit on the list was so fuckin' obscure, we were gonna save time by just gettin' it all from a hardware store. _After hours._ But we ain't jus' thieves. Me an' Mike were gonna get some money. Thas' why we were in Queens." He hadn't specifically said they were going to risk mugging a drug dealer, but he had no hope that Leo would not force him to say the words.

Leonardo seemed as if he were struggling for how to make his brother understand the root of his concerns. "Look Raphael, don't get me wrong, your methods are good at times," the eldest noted, "But you didn't need to go so far this time. People are far more likely to be packing guns in Queens than anywhere around here, the junkyard or Casey's place."

"We didn' have _POWER_, an' it gets fuckin' _COLD_ down 'ere! I _THOUGHT_ Don _NEEDED_ the parts!"

Donatello had the grace to blush and duck his head, very firmly involved in his work on mike's foot. He would apologize to Mike in private and offer to fix his playstation. Heck, he would apologize to Raphael as well, but he'd prefer not to eat crow in front of everyone all at once.

Leonardo rubbed at his beak. "And it was very good of you to think of saving us time Raphael..." he said, "But we'd be far better off with all five of us in one piece than we would otherwise and with power."

Raph grinned without a trace of humor. "I thought I didn' _have_ a supernatural sense of when people where gonna get hurt, Leo."

"I never said you _did_," Leo answered, "It's common sense that going to Queens when you could have just as easily gotten your parts otherwise at less risk, was far more likely to lead someone to injury in some form or another."

Donatello finished wrapping his brother's foot. "Doctor's orders? You sprained it bad. Listen to sensei and don't move it too much." He pulled a deep breath and stood up.

"I _THOUGHT_ it was an _EMERGENCY_, Leo... _QUIT BUSTIN" MY BALLS ABOU--_" Raph cut off, eyes on Donatello. "Well?"

Donatello frowned at Raph, but nodded. "Look. I'm _sorry_ I sent you out under the wrong impression. I needed you out of the way, and I didn't want to wait for 10 years while you 'got ready' to leave. So yeah, I _lied_ about the parts. We both know you're not going to quit shouting with Leo until I stand up and take my part of the blame. So yes. I sent you out without good reason. --But if you think this is somehow all my fault?…" Don trailed off. This was way too much confrontation. He had say what needed saying. He was done with Mike's foot. "I'll be in my lab if you guys want me to fix anything else." His unspoken complaint hung in the air as he snatched the first aid kit and stalked off to his lab. The only purpose he served in the family was to repair things, and here _he_ was apologizing to _them_ for needing the quiet to do it.

Leo bit his tongue despite the fact he still had plenty of protests to make. Raphael was not going to compute what he was saying as anything more than "ball busting," and it all seemed pretty useless now. With Don having added his own two cents and leaving, it seemed doubly so. Mike just sat there in the momentarily awkward silence wondering what Don would have said.

Splinter shook his head, and patted Michaelangelo's knee. "Do not bend it, stay off of it. You are excused from full kata, but I expect you to spend a greater amount of time doing sit-ups, floor stretches, and weight training to make up for it." He looked to his other sons.

"Raphael, I understand your disappointment in your brother, and I understand you labored under a false truth. However, understand that Leonardo merely wishes you to retain a sense of danger and weigh your options carefully in the future. We all have faith in you and your training, yet not even a ninja can dodge every bullet." His 'we all' very obviously included Leonardo and served as a very subtle reminder for his son in blue.

Leonardo bowed his head to Splinter quickly. "Thank you master," the oldest son noted, "It's nice to know someone here understands me." Though he wouldn't admit it, the bit directed at him had stung a little. Of course he had faith in Raphael! He needed no reminder! He just worried about him. He could be far too reckless for his own good.

Raph shot Leo a death-ray stare at his martyr routine, but nodded to his sensei. "Gotcha." He turned back to Leo, his tone dry as the Sahara, "Can I go have Don report the dead whores ta the cops now?"

Splinter sighed and shook his head. He knew Raphael understood him. He knew Leonardo understood him. How it was that they refused to understand each other eluded him. He pushed up from his seat beside Michaelangelo's foot on the coffee table and straightened his kimono.

Leonardo shot Raphael a glare right back. "Of course you can," the older answered between his teeth. He was already talking to Raphael's shell as Raph strode off towards Don's lab.

* * *

_With the ceremony concluded, the candles extinguished and dead woman properly prepared, Marcus J. Luxendorff removed the hood of his wrinkled robe. He turned to his associates; already busy removing their own unholy garments._

_"That went well gentlemen. I feel that this one was particularly potent. Clean up in here, and get some coffee. In a half hour, we'll take the 'new girl' downstairs and put her to work."_

_Mr. Luxendorff's subordinates nodded. The ceremony was exhausting, but only the first half of the job._

_The 'new girl' lay staring at the ceiling, skin hardening as though embalmed. Patches of hair sewn into her face obscured her consciousness' view out of her body. She cried out soundlessly in the dark of her dead shell. __LET ME OUT! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE! YOU BASTARDS! JUST LET ME DIE!_

_The human men around her could not hear her and if the body twitched from time to time, they were too busy putting away candles to notice._

_

* * *

_**To Be Continued!**

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Hello all! Here you go, what you were waiting for. The TURTLES part of the tmnt fanfiction. Heh. This chapter could be rated so much more leniently than the previous one, but I'm afraid that once a fic goes "M" it can't go back. So, tell your friends. Peas and I are writing again! Hope you enjoy it, and don't fret, Leonardo doesn't disrespect Michaelangelo so much as 'have a desperate need to mother somebody.' Mike just fits that category best. Lucky guy, huh?

Heh. Ah well, Thank you for reading! And double thank you to the folks who've RETURNED since this fic went dormant.

--Carrots


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